Powerpuff Girls: Evolution
by thestoryjunkie
Summary: It's been 10 years since tragedy divided the girls. The winds of time have set our heroes on different paths, but Darkness approaches once again. And this time, failure will mean more than just personal tragedy. Failure will mean the end of the very universe as we know it. Can the Powerpuff Girls heal the wounds of the past and team up again against the forces of evil?
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

 **BLOSSOM**

The news helicopter swung across the sky, its cameraman trained on the fiery event below. The commotion was on Fifth, near the heart of Townsville's financial district. Fire had engulfed a brick building, and the smoke rose in dense, pitch-black plumes from the windows. Cars near the scene had been abandoned. Citizens fled the danger in a frenzy, their scattered movements like panicked ants from up high.

Down on the ground, a pair of knee-high boots, shiny and blue, took confident steps through the debris. The boots were connected to the thighs of a woman, bound in white spandex. Her thighs led up to a torso in blue, with a white star stretched across her bust. Her arms were bare, but her wrists wore broad golden cuffs that glinted in the sunlight. She wore a cape; a sheening river of wine that wrapped—not pinned—around her neck in thick waves, flowing over her shoulders and rippling down to her feet. And then, there was her hair, luscious, long, and carrot-hued, with a golden crown in the likeness of an eagle nestled on her head. Her hair billowed behind her as she walked through the broken wall of the building.

She was not the one who had started the mayhem, but she was certainly about to end it.

The perpetrator of said mayhem was the hyper-intelligent ape in the twelve-foot mecha she had just punched through the front of accountancy firm Rothman and Peters. Or was it an investment firm? Either way, she hoped their insurance covered Acts of God. That was how they classified these actions. Specifically, _her_ actions. Other powered beings were grouped under 'super-human insurance'. Under some policies, 'Acts of a Meta-being'. But not _hers_. She was classified under the same category as earthquakes and hurricanes. Like she herself was walking, talking chaos. Like she alone was the left hand of God.

The ape crawled out of the mangled head of the mecha, and glared up at the woman standing over him.

"Someday, Liberty Belle," he croaked, "you will rue the day of your birth. You will cast your eyes to the stars and gnash your teeth, begging for the sweet release of Death!"

Liberty Belle's eyes were cold and unflinching. "Your father must be so proud of you."

He shrieked, "The Mojo clan with rule the Earth with an iron—!"

A swift blow to the head, and the Son of Mojo went silent. By the time he regained consciousness, he would be in a jail cell.

When she walked out into the sunshine, Townsville PD was waiting for her go-ahead. She nodded, and they proceeded into the building for the arrest.

Ken stood on the sidewalk with a cup of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. And suddenly, she was no longer Liberty Belle. Not in front of her baby brother. Now, she was just Blossom. "You strut like you're perpetually on a runway in Milan," he said. "I love it, and I hate you."

Blossom received the cup. "Thank you?" She sipped and sighed. "Oh that hits the spot."

"You have a photoshoot for Glamz at 10 am," he said, glancing over his tablet. "A PSA recording for teen girls at 2 pm. A meeting with the board of Dollars for Toddlers at 4 pm—"

"I'm still not sure I understand what that charity does," said Blossom.

"Honey, no one does."

"Do they give actual cash to little kids? That doesn't sound right."

"And you have a charity ball at 7."

"Nooooo," Blossom whined. "No more charity balls."

Ken made a face, blinking like he'd just been slapped. "It's for cleft palate surgeries. For little children in Burkina Faso. In _Africa._ "

"Fine, fine. But I don't get why we can't just make a donation and stay home."

"First of all, you're the only one who's going to be staying home. I _have_ a life. And secondly, you know people only go to those things because they want to stand in your general vicinity and watch you eat shrimp."

Blossom rolled her eyes. "Ew."

"And speaking of fandoms, your adoring subjects approach."

People had stopped running away, and were now striding towards Blossom and Ken, phones and cameras out, an incoming tide of autograph and selfie requests.

Blossom eyed them tiredly. "I can go, right? I'm probably already late for the photoshoot."

Ken smirked. "No, you can spare five minutes for fan service, you woman-child. Now go make them happy."

Blossom sighed and broke out a wide, forced grin. "Hey guys," she said in an extra cheery voice, as the first fan reached her and asked for a selfie.

"My uh, daughter is a huge fan," he said, as they posed for the shot.

"Mm-hm. Sure."

"Remember people," Ken yelled over the crowd. "Hashtag 'LibertyBelle' or 'LibertySaves'."

Blossom was there for half an hour.

000

The photoshoot took place in a high-rise apartment in Upper East VoMo, one of the fancier neighbourhoods in Townsville. The living room had been cleared out, its furniture replaced with a backdrop, studio lights, and a snack table with too many cantaloupe slices. There was a staff of about ten. They made the otherwise sizeable apartment feel a bit claustrophobic.

The shoot was being run by a young prodigy by the name of Blue Cheese. Blossom could not imagine that his mother had punished him with this moniker, and so she asked him what his real name was as the makeup girl applied bronzer along her cheekbones.

"I cannot say," he said, in an accent that was a bizarre mix of British and South African.

"Why not?"

"Jean is not who I am anymore."

Blossom blinked. "So…your first name is Jean then?"

Blue Cheese gasped. "I have said too much." And with a flip of his scarf, he marched off to oversee the lighting set up.

Mr. Cheese fancied himself a new age Mario Testino, and he wanted to capture something high-fashion for the magazine. He had Blossom wearing nothing but a red cape, not unlike the one she wore with her costume. Here, it was draped around her body, with a replica of her golden eagle crown on her head—a reference to the original lady of liberty herself. Her body was covered in silver and gold glitter.

"Yes, yes, let your eyes do the talking," he said, as he snapped. "Give me defiance. But sexy defiance. Like a lioness. But a sexy lioness."

Blossom tried her best to oblige. He kept trying to get her to arch her back, but some of the things he wanted were not things her body naturally did. And whatever it was he wanted her eyes to say, it was in a language her eyes clearly did not speak. But she tried, and eventually, he seemed satisfied.

"Wonderful job, Liberty," he said, as he swiped through the photos on his camera's display screen. "You're a star."

I'm just glad it's over, Blossom wanted to say. Instead, she said, "You're the real star. It was an honour." Just like Ken had taught her.

Blue placed a hand over his chest and sighed. "You truly are made of sugar and spice, aren't you?"

"And everything nice."

"Hm?"

"Oh, you know, like the children's rhyme. Sugar, spice, and everything nice?"

Blue stared blankly at her.

"Also the ingredients famously used to create—um, never mind."

Blue had already began walking away. "I'll forward you my favourites from the editing room. Buh-bye."

Blossom waved weakly after him as Ken came to stand beside her.

"So, the PSA next right?" she said.

"Actually, before we do that, you have to give a quick interview. I forgot to tell you, but it was a package deal with the shoot."

"Okay," Blossom said. "But I'm not prepped for an interview."

"Just stick to the usual shtick and you'll be fine. Keep it nice and light and super chill, okay?"

Seats had been set up by the full-length windows, with soft reflectors to bounce the sunlight back and prevent silhouetting. The interviewer was a black lady with short relaxed hair and she flashed a pearly white smile fit for Hollywood when Blossom went over.

"Maliya Williams," she said, shaking Blossom's hand. "I'm a huge fan."

"Thank you."

"I know everybody says that, but I mean it like you wouldn't believe. I've been a fan since there were three of you."

Blossom glanced over her shoulder to give Ken a look. Ken ignored her.

"Growing up, I had all the merchandise. I had the lunch boxes, the backpacks, the stationery, the dinner plates, the night lights, the action figures. You name it, and I had your face on it."

"Aww. That's…that's cute." Blossom noticed one of the crew mounting a flat device on a stand. "We're shooting on an iPhone?"

"Streaming," Maliya clarified. "It's for the Glamz Instagram. Real-time content is hot now."

Blossom threw another glance at Ken, and this time, even he looked a little hesitant. But then after a beat, he waved off her concern.

"Everything okay?" said Maliya.

"Um, yeah." Blossom straightened her back and tucked a strand behind her ear. "Go ahead."

"And we're live," said the guy behind the phone.

Maliya turned to grin at the camera. "Hey guys and greetings from the heart of Townsville. I'm your girl, Maliya, and this is Glamz Five Minute Gabs. Today we're catching up with America's sweetheart Blossom Utonium, or as pretty much everyone on the face of the planet knows her: Liberty Belle!"

Blossom waved, her cheeks already on fire from fake-smiling all day. "Hi guys!"

"What were you doing when we found you, Blossom?"

"Um, a photoshoot for Glamz, directed by the very talented Blue Cheese."

"Yum!" Maliya said. "I love blue cheese. Especially on sweet potato fries? Talk about sugar and spice, am I right?"

"Wait, what? Sorry, I was talking about the—"

"The photographer, I know." Maliya laughed. "Just kidding around, Liberty Belle."

"Oh yeah. I…I knew that. Ha ha." Blossom widened her smile.

"Can't wait for you guys to see the pictures." Maliya winked at the camera. "Very hot stuff. Do you usually do such risqué shoots?"

"I wouldn't exactly call what we shot risqué—"

"Well damn! You were almost naked, girl! If that's not risqué, we can't wait to see what you call risqué." She laughed.

Blossom tried to laugh too. "This is fun."

Maliya stopped laughing suddenly. "But enough with the small talk. Let's get deep."

 _Ah shit,_ Blossom thought.

Maliya's voice was low and sombre now. "We're one week away from the tenth anniversary of the tragedy that forever changed the face of Townsville: the death of Professor Utonium at the hands of a still as-yet unidentified, potentially extra-terrestrial being. Blossom, how does that make you feel?"

Blossom blinked. "Um…sad?"

"Mm, mm, I can only imagine. For those of you watching who're too young to remember, Liberty Belle was once a member—nay, the _leader—_ of a trio of crime-fighting little girls called the Powerpuff Girls. The team announced its disbanding barely six months after Professor Utonium's passing. Now your sisters. Can we talk about your sisters? Can we get real for a second?"

Blossom squirmed in her seat and eyed the camera. The crew was watching with rapt attention too. "Honestly, I'd rather not."

"Of course, of course," said Maliya, nodding slowly. "The confession of a hurting soul." She paused. "Now the longstanding rumour is that Bubbles, the youngest—"

"Well, we're all the same age," said Blossom with a sigh. "But yeah, I guess we did treat her like the baby of the group."

"So she was the only one who went after your father's killer. She disappeared when you were eighteen, presumably to the stars in a stolen SpaceX ship."

Blossom almost laughed at that one. "Wait, what?"

"And as for Buttercup, the hot-headed middle child—"

"Again: triplets. Same age." Blossom was struggling to hide her irritation now.

"There are disturbing theories in Reddit threads and 4chan forums that your sister Buttercup turned to the occult. There are reports of her seeking dark spells and forbidden magic; I can only imagine to find some way to resurrect your beloved father. Can you confirm or deny any of these rumours?"

Blossom rolled her eyes. "They are exactly what they sound like, Maliya. Silly rumours. Bubbles moved to a small remote village in Japan, where she spends her days wading in rice paddies and sends me hastily scribbled postcards every other month or so. And Buttercup is in Montana. Or Mississippi. Or Maine. I know, or maybe I don't, but even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. She's changed her hair and her legal name, so don't even bother trying to find her. She just wants to be left alone. My sisters never contact me directly anymore. I haven't heard their voices in almost a decade. And with this very painful anniversary coming up, the last thing they need is everyone up in their business, asking them how they feel, or telling them how they should feel, or ambushing them during a live-streaming interview."

The silence in the room was deafening.

Blossom released a derisive laugh and wiped away a slow-forming tear. "You guys are vultures. They couldn't stand this circus. None of us really could. This is why they didn't stay."

Another stretch of silence.

"Then I guess the only question left is," said Maliya. "Why did you?"

000

The elevator door slid closed.

"You had one job," Blossom said through gritted teeth.

She and Ken were riding the lift, away from the disaster of an interview some 800,000+ Instagram users had streamed live.

"Um, first of all, I have _several_ jobs when it comes to you," said Ken with a frown. "And also, how was I supposed to know she was going to go all Guru-Murthy on your ass? They're not the Times, they're Glamz magazine! Isn't the only thing they're good at giving 15-year-old high school girls body image issues?"

"Jesus, the fact that we can so casually admit that is gross."

"You don't hear me laughing."

"We need to rethink our branding and for whom the hell we model and interview."

"Glamz is dead to us. I hear you."

The elevator opened onto the top floor, and they found their way onto the rooftop. Blossom welcomed the cool afternoon breeze. It played with her hair, her bright orange strands dancing on the current, as she whirled around to face Ken.

"I don't want to do the rest of my day," she said.

"I figured."

"Send the Dollars for Toddlers board my apologies, and a larger donation than usual to the cleft palate foundation."

"Already did it during the interview. I saw that face you made."

"What would I do without you?"

"Sign your own cheques, apparently."

"We should do something tonight," said Blossom. "Just you and me."

"Didn't we do this already? I have plans remember?"

Blossom shrugged. "You could cancel them. Or I could tag along. I _love_ gay clubs and they love me."

"They love you a little too much if you ask me. Every outing becomes about you-you-you."

"Then I'll wear a wig and a hat. Come on! I promise not to dance on the bar this time."

"Also, I resent that you think my only option for a night out is the club. I have options."

"Oh? Where?" Blossom asked innocently.

"Ugh." Ken rolled his eyes. "Fine. I lied about going out tonight. I'm going to see Mom."

That stopped Blossom in her tracks.

"She's missed you, you know. She always says so. She doesn't get to see you enough, except on 'the Youtube' as she calls it."

"I miss her too," Blossom said softly, and then she nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment. "I just…don't want to deal with that look in her eyes."

"What look?"

Blossom scowled at him. "You know what look."

"I think you imagine that look."

"Nope. No, I don't. I know she blames me for the way the Professor died."

"I hate when you say dumb shit like that. She doesn't blame you. Nobody blames you."

"I like that you genuinely believe that," said Blossom, and she pulled her brother into an embrace and held him for a minute.

"He was my father," Ken whispered. "And I have never blamed you."

Blossom kissed him on the cheek. "Never change."

Ken watched as she rose into the sky and blasted away.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Hi guys! Thanks so much for returning for Chapter 2! I didn't do an introduction in Chapter 1 because I was hoping to grab readers on the merit of the story alone. If you're reading this, then it means I did a decent job and I'm super psyched to have you here reading a follow up chapter._**

 ** _Thanks to Carriedreamer for the review! Also for putting me on your story alert list! Glad that the premise intrigues you so far._**

 ** _Thanks to Nina Tracy as well! I'm honoured to be on your story alert list. Hope to eventually hear from you in the review section!_**

 ** _Hope y'all enjoy Chapter 2!_**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

 **BUBBLES**

Zath could not stop staring. He couldn't help it; what an odd creature he was. Or rather, what an odd creature _she_ was. It was Zath's first time in such close proximity to an earthling, and he understood that this one was supposed to be female.

So: _she_ was sitting in the driver's seat of their old, cobalt-blue transporter, a model from the late thirty-fourth century known more for its manual controls and uninhibited speed limit than for its energy efficiency or style. She was on a reading device. Or was it a communication device? Or an image capturing device? Some rectangular earthling gadget that did too many things at once, as far as he could tell.

She was wearing a silver full-body suit, probably made of some damage resistant polymer. It was skin tight and seamless. Not like a piece of clothing that had been worn. More like a high density gel that had been spread across her skin. Yet, it shone like metal when it caught the sunlight just right. Weird.

Was she supposed to be attractive, he wondered? By earthling standards? He couldn't tell. Unlike Injigos, or Flemmlings, or any of the other dominant species in the Chremadzulla galaxy, earthlings were furless, shell-less, and hide-less. A creature that was furless, shell-less, and hide-less could not be judged by the sheen of their coat, the colours on their shell, or the patterns on their hide. Earthlings had nothing by which to judge their beauty. Just lots of soft and squishy flesh…on the outside of their bodies no less. And then there was all that fibrous fur on top of their heads. It was bizarre!

Take this earthling for example. Her flesh was the colour of rotting moon petals, velvety off-white. Maybe in some sick, twisted way, he could see how one would find it attractive. The fibres on her head, twisted into a tail that dangled down her back, were bright yellow like the early morning sun. Or pus after a week-long infection. It depended on how one chose to look at it really. And her eyes, of which there were only two (poor earthlings), were like planets of pitch black ringed in blue. Blue like the colour of poisonous roran berries. Blue like the colour of this transporter.

She was so different from Zath, with his large bulky Aptilian form, covered in a thick red hide of which he was very proud, and with four eyes, each of a different colour, real mate-attractors. He was, by every standard imaginable, a far more desirable and attractive being. Yet there was something about this earthling. This earthling who called herself 'Bubbles'.

For one thing, he had never met a getaway driver so relaxed in the middle of a job.

Bubbles read something off her device and gasped. "Did you know that our brains filter out like 90% of the information our sensory receptors collect?"

She was chewing something. A cud of sorts. Bright pink. It never seemed to diminish, no matter how long she chomped at it. It also had semi-elastic properties, and every now and again she would inflate the cud until it broke against her lips with a soft pop. She was doing it now. _Pop._

"For example," Bubbles continued, "our brains actually ignore most of the things our eyes see until we pay attention to specific things. It's called visual selective attention."

"Oh? And why do our brains do that?"

"It's how we make sense of the world, apparently. Easier to only piece the relevant bits together as and when you need them, than process a million things at the same time all of the time. It's actually pretty clever. Although…" She looked thoughtful. "That also means there's a ton of stuff we never notice at all."

"Well, _you_ never notice," said Zath. "Surely, that article only applies to your species. Aptilians have far superior senses to earthlings."

Bubbles blew her cud until it popped. "Oh, I didn't think of that. That's a good point." She looked at him. "You want to test it?"

Zath blinked. "Test what?"

Bubbles leaned in suddenly, and it took everything within Zath not to back away. Her breath was warm and sweet. Disgusting.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Bubbles stared at him, unflinching. Nothing happened at first. Suddenly, there was a light in her eyes—just a flash of electric blue. There was a spark or two in the air around her. And then: nothing.

She leaned back into the driver's seat.

Zath narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

Bubbles smiled to herself. "Nothing."

Zath abandoned her silly games and cast a nervous glance out the transporter window. _They_ should have been back by now. Across the street was a massive staircase that led up to a towering building. The building was made of new age metal alloys and full-glass windows that glinted in the sunlight. YZOIRDEN LABS the signage read in bold letters. Yzoirden Labs was isolated from the rest of the city by design, located a fair distance away from the closest highway, and surrounded by a green field. Not for the first time this week, Zath wondered how long it would take enforcers to get here. They hadn't been able to test the response time, for fear that it would spook the company into doubling security. This whole job made him uncomfortable. And waiting here with this sun-haired earthling, this creature who had joined their gang out of nowhere, only exacerbated his anxiety.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Sure," said Bubbles, only half paying attention. Her attention was back on her device and her pink cud.

"Who taught you to speak Aptilian? Even the others of this planet find it a difficult tongue to master. Yet yours is practically flawless."

"Oh, don't think too much of it. I'm omni-linguistic."

He looked at her. "What?"

"It means I can learn to speak any language within a day of hearing it." She said it so casually, like she was admitting to knowing how to heat soup. _Pop,_ went the cud.

"I didn't know earthlings could do that."

"They can't. It's just me. My sisters and I were created in a laboratory through a complicated series of experimental cloning procedures, genetic engineering breakthroughs, and extra-embryonic trophoblast stem cell farming that lasted approximately 2500 days. They made cartoons about us and everything, although they might have oversimplified the Professor's methodology a teeny bit." She smiled at the memory. "Sugar, spice, and everything nice. Cute."

Zath listened, bewildered. "Uh-huh."

"Lost a bunch of my powers though, for reasons I won't get into just yet." She looked up from her device and sighed. "Mostly, I miss the flying."

A low-pitched alarm halted their conversation, the sound like a dying beast caught in a perpetual loop. Zath looked to see two people running out of the building towards them. The runner in the lead was another Aptilian, Zath's brother Rath, and the other close behind, the stout creature covered in colourful feathers and blinking eyes, was their Nyxian partner Orfnorf. Each of them had a laser pistol in one hand and a silver briefcase in the other.

Bubbles put her device away, attaching it to her belt as they practically flew into the backseat.

Rath slammed the transporter door shut. "Go, go, go!" he screamed at Bubbles.

"Did you remember to get my thing?" Bubbles asked.

Rath snorted. "Who cares about your dumb thing? Drive, ya brain deficient cow!"

Bubbles turned around to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "Say what now?"

"We have samples of some of the rarest psychedelic compounds in the galaxy, and they'll fetch us millions on the black market!"

"Millions!" Orfnorf chirped.

"And you're worried about some stupid crystals?" said Rath.

Now Bubbles was looking at Zath. "Tell me he's kidding."

"He's kidding!" Zath said. He glanced at him brother. "You're kidding right?"

Rath made a face. "Why do you have a sticker on your forehead?"

Zath looked confused, and then he plucked said sticker off his face to look at it. It was in the likeness of some creature he did not recognize: long-eared and white with a heart shaped nose. What the-?

Meanwhile Rath looked like he was about to blow an artery. "Move, you strand of unwashed privates! Enforcers could be here any second!"

"Nuh-uh, I'm not moving this bucket of junk an inch until I see what I came for." And with those words, Bubbles folded her arms and sat back.

The sound of sirens faded in from a distance.

"YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF EARTHLING SCUM!" Rath shrieked.

"FOR MOON'S SAKE, JUST SHOW HER THE CRYSTALS!" Zath snapped back.

"FINE!" Rath opened the latches on the briefcase.

"Oh no, they're here," Orfnorf said.

Two enforcer transporters had just turned into view at the end of the road ahead. Two more turned into view behind them.

Orfnorf's feathers bristled. "We're surrounded! This is bad. Ooh, this is bad!"

"Here, you happy?!" said Rath, opening up one of the briefcases.

Bubbles glanced at the contents. Small plastic packets filled with iridescent shards, like crushed diamonds. She smiled sweetly at him. "See?" She pushed the start button and the transporter roared to life. "That wasn't so hard."

She stomped on the pedal and they were thrown back as the transporter pitched itself forward. Her passengers held onto anything they could as they gained velocity. Their transporter roared, breathed, roared, breathed, with every new band of speed it achieved. The scenery outside their windows began to melt into a blur.

"What are we going to do about that?" Zath asked, pointing up ahead.

The enforcer transporters were heading straight towards them.

Bubbles didn't answer. She was hunched over the steering wheel, eyes ablaze with determination, lips pursed into the beginnings of a new cud bubble.

Roar. Breathe. Roar. Their transporter shifted into a higher speed band still.

The enforcer transporters were coming in fast. They were getting so close Zath could see the bewildered faces of the troopers inside.

Zath pushed back into his seat. "Bubbles…" he said anxiously.

Bubbles ignored him. Their transporter's speed gauge was almost at its max, the digital counter coming to an indecisive flicker between 395 and 396 zooms. Zath could practically feel the vehicle's anti-gravity limiters shuddering under the strain. But Bubbles was unflinching. She just stayed the course, barrelling towards a fiery collision.

And now the enforcer transporters were seconds ahead. The pink cud on Bubbles' lips was inflated to capacity…

"Dammit Bubbles!" Zath cried.

 _Pop!_

The enforcers swerved off the road, their two transporters parting like a double door to let Bubbles through.

"Oh my God!" Bubbles squealed, throwing her head back and laughing maniacally. "I wasn't even sure if that would work! I'm totally shaking! Looking at my hand, look!" There was a madness in her voice that brought a chill into the vehicle.

"Just keep your eyes on the road, ya psychopath!" Rath yelled from the backseat.

"They're still on us!" said Orfnorf.

The two transporters that had just allowed Bubbles through were already turning around to join the other two. There were now four enforcer transporters on their tail, sirens wailing.

Bubbles was coming onto a main road with fast moving traffic. "Don't worry. I've got this." And for a second—only a second—her eyes flashed blue and the air around her crackled with visible electricity. Then:

Bubbles jerked the wheel and their transporter slid onto the main road, cleanly missing every other vehicle in motion. But then: BAM! The left rear end of their transporter smashed into a railing, spitting sparks for a few brief seconds before Bubbles regained control and corrected their position in the lane.

Orfnorf and Rath swore. "I thought they said you were the best at this!" said Zath.

"Calm your dingalings, I'm working with an old machine here," Bubbles said.

Their bodies swayed left and right as she wove between civilian transporters. With every move she made, her eyes flashed and the air crackled with discharged energy. The down on her forearms was beginning to stand, and the strands of golden fibre on her head were lifting. Zath watched her navigate them through traffic with a mix of astonishment and apprehension. Who was this earthling?

Still, the enforcers were gaining on them.

"We need to get into a grid. It'll be easier to lose them there," said Rath.

"Can you handle a grid?" Zath asked Bubbles.

Grids were complicated airspace networks in urban areas. There could be as many as twelve altitude levels, not counting the ground level, that crisscrossed between buildings, through alleyways, and over waterways. Accident rates were astronomical in grids. The recommended speed limit was 50 zooms.

Bubbles was doing 400. "I got you," she said, her eyes flashing blue.

And then she swung them across two lanes, between a massive hauling transporter and a mini taxi-carriage, and into an exit lane. The exit lane rose in a tight spiral through the air, designed for slow and careful navigation. Bubbles had their transporter sliding through a rapid concentric drift, the rear of their vehicle a consistent distance from the boundary railing. "Hold on!" Bubbles yelled.

The exit ended abruptly in a warp platform that seized their transporter and shot them out at near light speed towards a designated urban grid. Everything outside the vehicle flashed white.

They appeared in the air, at the edge of Sector 17-Q with its cloud-scraping cityscape, hurtling towards a line of slow moving traffic. Bubbles' eyes flashed, and then she punched a button on the dash. Her passengers groaned at the feeling of their insides in free fall, as their transporter lost altitude and plunged to a lower level. She joined a freer airway, and resumed zigzagging between transporters.

Orfnorf heaved. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Why are you sticking to the designated airways?" said Rath. "Just cut between them. It's faster!"

"Maybe, but it'll be easier to spot us if we're just flying through the air willy-nilly," said Bubbles. "Shut up and let me do my job."

They ran a stop-light, the purple warnings blinking overhead as they spun around to join the intersecting airway. There was a cacophony of incensed honking behind them.

"Going down!" Bubbles warned, as she pushed the low-altitude button on the dash again.

Another round of nauseous groans in the vehicle, as their transporter dropped to the airway below, fitting them within a new stream of speeding transporters. Bubbles slammed the pedal and off they went. But they had barely been on this airway for thirty moments when the familiar sirens caught up with them again, and amber enforcer lights flashed in the rear view monitor.

Zath cursed. "We're never going to lose them."

"Patience, young grasshopper," said Bubbles.

"Don't call me weird names!"

"It's a quote from—ugh, never mind. Just hold on."

"If we switch altitudes again, I swear to Moon I'm going to throw up!" Orfnorf yelled.

"Then grab a paper bag," said Bubbles. "This is the fun part."

They were fast headed towards an inverse two-way tunnel, where one airway of traffic moved right-side up, and the other airway of traffic moved upside down in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Zath said, pointing up as they shot into the tunnel. "That lane has a warp platform!"

Bubbles popped her curd. "I know."

Stomping on the brakes, she swung their transporter through a perfect one-eighty degrees. In the same fluid motion, she switched to reverse mode and sunk the motion pedal, so that they were now flying backwards through the tunnel.

Zath and Rath released a string of obscenities. Orfnorf started throwing up in the back.

Now they were facing the enforcers chasing them.

"Let's see them follow this," Bubbles said, and this time when her eyes glowed blue, the very air in the vehicle seemed to burn with blinding sparks. She threw the transporter against the railing; it bucked sideways and bounced. And just as it started to flip, she hit the high altitude button. Their transporter was yanked upwards, and for a long moment of unadulterated terror, it felt like gravity itself was tumbling with them in the vehicle.

Their transporter spun along its axis—whooshing upwards through the air—until the artificial gravity of the upside-down airway snatched them. And just like that, Bubbles was driving them in the opposite direction of their pursuers!

Zath was in shock.

"What the bleeding Moon-man!" Rath cried. "What just happened? What was that?"

Bubbles grinned. "Skill." She swerved their transporter out of main traffic and onto the warp platform they'd seen on their way in.

They were hurled into sub light-speed.

000

After four or five more warp jumps across the city, Bubbles finally felt it was safe enough to stop. She parked them underneath a concrete overpass in a derelict neighbourhood on the other side of the region.

Zath was still a little awestruck by her performance. "I've never seen anybody manoeuvre like that," he said, as they got out of the transporter. "You were definitely worth every credit."

Rath shrugged. "Meh." He handed the briefcase over to Bubbles. "She wasn't bad."

She spat out the pink cud she'd been chewing all day and rolled her eyes.

"Wasn't bad?" Even Orfnorf, who was now wiping his mouth of puke, looked exhilarated. "She's the best driver we've ever had. You can join our crew anytime!"

"Yeah, sorry to disappoint, but this is both the first and last time we're working together," said Bubbles.

"Oh what? Suddenly you too good for us?" Rath sneered.

"Well, that. But also you just caught me at a desperate time." Bubbles shrugged, as she leaned back against the side of the transporter. "I overestimated my utonium-9 stock and ran out when I came to this planet. A quick background check told me that lab would have some, but it also had some crazy advanced DNA-based security protocol that was too complicated for me to get through with skin samples or anything rudimentary like that. It was just easier to find Aptilian natives to work with. That would be you."

"Utonium-9?" said Rath. "I thought the crystals were called Z1-21 or something. That was what you told us to get. No take backs!"

"Calm down, they're the same thing." Bubbles placed the briefcase on the hood of the transporter. "On my planet, it was a man called Professor Utonium who discovered the isotope."

"What does it do?" Zath asked.

"Ever heard the term 'quantum superposition'?" said Bubbles. She picked up one of the packets of tiny crystals.

The three of them shook their heads in near unison.

"To oversimplify it: it's when really tiny particles like electrons exist in two states at the same time. Sometimes it means the same particle is in two places at once, and sometimes, it means it's in two dimensions at once." Bubbles had picked up one of the crystals and was holding it up. It sparkled with a strange array of lights, and seemed to bend the locality of her hand. "Now imagine a whole compound made of particles like this, radiating energy that flows in, out, and between the very fabric of space. Nothing about it is constant. Not its mass, not its energy, not its gravity. Geez, lately I've begun wondering if even its place in time is constant."

"Wow." Orfnorf looked especially impressed. "Are you a scientist yourself?"

"No." Bubbles paused and allowed herself a weak smile. "But my father was. I've just been…around. For a long time." Her smile faded away. "Too long."

Zath turned to his brother. "Even you've got to admit some of this is pretty cool."

Rath's face had suddenly gone slack. His eyes had glossed over and his mouth hung slightly open. Zath poked his brother. "Rath, are you okay?"

Rath's arm arced up to point a laser pistol at Bubbles.

Zath was alarmed. "Rath, what are you doing?"

"Someday, Bubbles," Rath croaked, "you will rue the day of your birth. You will cast your eyes to the stars and gnash your teeth, begging for the sweet release of Death!"

He fired at Bubbles. But it was like she had never been standing there to begin with. Instead she was standing a little to the left, her eyes brilliant blue, her silver body suit crawling with sparks. He fired again. And again, it was like she'd changed her position in the blink of an eye. Zath blinked, incredulous.

Rath seemed oblivious to his own lack of success. He fired again. And again. And again. And each time, Bubbles' body displaced itself, shifting left, then right, then left again, drawing closer and closer to Rath with every shot.

 _"_ _Our brains actually ignore most of the things our eyes see until we pay attention to specific things. It's called visual selective attention."_

And suddenly, Zath could see it…

 _"_ _Surely, that article only applies to your species. Aptilians have far superior senses to earthlings."_

Zath could see what happened every time Rath fired the pistol at Bubbles. In the moment that her eyes flashed, in the moment when her energy wriggled and forked through the air like angry hydras, time slowed down. Literally. He watched how Bubbles dodged the lasers, casually sidestepping out of Rath's line of fire before he could even begin to pull the trigger.

And now, she was standing before him.

With one swift move, she relinquished Rath of his pistol and then crushed it in her bare hands. She placed a hand on his chest and shoved with little discernible effort.

Rath went flying back. He hit the ground hard and passed out immediately.

Bubbles turned to Zath. "What is this? Some kind of double cross?"

Zath shook his heads frantically while Orfnorf looked downright traumatized.

"No, no, I swear!" Zath said. "I…I don't know what got into him."

Bubbles shook her head, and detached something from her side. It looked like a wand with a bulb on it. They watched her unscrew the bulb, empty a packet of utonium-9 into it, and then screw the bulb back on.

She pointed the wand at empty space, and a rift tore open; a spitting, sparking ring of ice blue fire. Within the ring itself was a darkness so pure and complete that it sent shivers up Zath's spine. But it seemed that Bubbles was about to step into it.

"Wait," Zath said, before she could disappear, possibly forever. "Where are you going though?"

Bubbles threw one last glance at them, and in that glance Zath recognized a century's worth of exhaustion.

"Home," she said.

With her briefcase in one hand, and her wand in the other, she stepped through the portal and it shrunk behind her, blinking into nothingness. And then, she was gone.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading guys! Hit that review button and let me know what you think! Take care of yourselves._**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Hi guys! Thanks for returning for Chapter 3! It took me a while to write this chapter; partly because of exams, but also partly because Buttercup has always been my favourite Powerpuff Girl and I wanted to get her chapter absolutely right._**

 ** _Thanks to everyone who put this story on their alert list._**

 ** _Hope y'all enjoy Chapter 3!_**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3**

 **BUTTERCUP**

The figure melted out of the darkness, taking form like coagulating shadow. Its movements were seamless, silent, borderline surreal as it drifted across the street. It was almost as though the world itself were shifting around it, bending to propel it forward. The being reached the opposite sidewalk, where a damaged streetlamp flinched and flickered, and for a brief moment _her_ form was fully visible. Her pixie-cut was black as night, and her skin, like polished silver. She was dressed in an oversized trench coat that rippled around her petite frame like restless water, even though there was no wind. And she stank of magic. Powerful magic.

There were two guards before the iron wrought gate she was approaching. Humans, by the looks of it; humans turned traitors against their own kind. She could always tell because humans tried too hard to prove their worth to the demons, abusing their own bodies into gaining unsightly muscle mass. These two for instance were hulking and veiny, practically sculpted out of meat. Their tank tops screamed against the strain. One was bald with a scorpion face tattoo, and the other had greasy blond hair tied into a man bun.

Baldie noticed Her first. "Who the hell is that?"

Greasy Hipster looked up from Candy Crush on his phone. He yelled, "Hey, you lost or somethin'?"

"Does she look lost?" said Baldie. "She's wearing a frickin' trench coat, for chrissake. Get your piece!"

They whipped out their handguns and pointed them.

"One more step, and the dogs'll be eatin' your brains come sunrise!" Baldie warned.

But the Woman just kept coming. Her emerald eyes were fixed on them, calm and unblinking.

"Don't say we didn't warn yer," Baldie muttered. "Bitch." And his finger moved to pull the trigger.

Her movement was a fluid streak, and in a blink, she'd closed the distance between them. Her fist found Baldie's throat first, caving in his larynx with a crunch. He dropped his weapon to clutch at it, staggering backwards and retching. He fell back against the gate and slid down to the ground.

Greasy Hipster was frozen with confusion. Before his brain could register what was happening, she threw out her hand and caught his arm under hers. With a clench of her bicep, she snapped his elbow joint and his gun fell, clacking as it bounced cross the concrete. She released his arm and—just as his lips parted to cry—shot out her hand to clamp his mouth shut. His scream was warm and wet against her palm. She shoved his head back, slamming it against the bars of the gate. He slumped to the ground next to his colleague, out cold.

Leaning into the gate, she whispered gentle incantations, and the breath that carried her words turned a violent crimson upon contact with the wrought metal. The invisible barrier that sheathed the gate crackled, sparked, and then gave way, the magical reaction turning the bars red hot before liquefying them into a pool of molten iron. She stepped through the gap in the gate and started up the stone walkway to the temple on the hill.

Great lawns surrounded her, shrouded in shifting shadows. She could feel _them_ hiding, behind the giant shrubs shaped into ogres, and chimera, and trolls. She could hear them breathing. She could smell their stench; of lupine pheromones and bloody breath.

One by one they came out from behind the bushes, werewolves, six in all. Three had already transformed. They were the size of SUVs, hairs bristled and eyes gold, lips drawn back to bare canines dripping with salivation. The other three men had only begun to change—their bodies expanding in size, their flesh sprouting fur, their nails curving into claws. Their jaws protruded forward and grew fangs, and with that final mutation, they pierced the night air with baying.

They didn't see the silver daggers sliding out of her sleeves into her palms. "Come and get it," she whispered.

She spun as they pounced, casting her daggers with uncanny accuracy. Five werewolves howled as the blades tore through them, bringing them down. The sixth reached her before she could release her last dagger. He smashed into her, and they tumbled across the grass, a roiling ball of snarling, snapping and swinging. But suddenly, she was upright again and the werewolf was laying at her feet, a dagger buried deeply between his forearm and heaving breast. His eyes rolled about and his paws flailed. He was having trouble breathing.

She leaned over him. "Stop moving," she muttered. "Or you'll bleed out faster."

The werewolf slowed his panicked movements. He was still breathing but he was going to be in pain for a long time. They all were. She turned her back to the suffering beasts and resumed her journey up the walkway to the temple.

The double door to the temple was made of dark varnished wood, inscribed with markings and runes that had existed before the dawn of time. She almost touched it. Her fingers hovered inches away from the carved surface; she could feel a tremble in the space around it. More magic. A spell to turn her flesh to stone, most likely. Common defensive stuff.

The Woman cracked her fingers, and then bent and twisted them through a series of complicated hand symbols, muttering arcane words of fire and brimstone while she did. The door let out an agonizing shriek, like a thousand tortured souls from hell, before blowing off its hinges and into the building.

She stepped through the blue smoke and into a hallway, casting her gaze around the room: at the high arced ceiling and the stained glass windows, the flickering torches and suits of rusty armour that lined the walls.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she sang under her breath. Her voice rasped, leaves on concrete in autumn. "I can feel you staring."

The torches dimmed, plunging the hallway into darkness, before flaring up again. And now three women surrounded Her, dressed in all-black gowns, their ceramic white skin even paler than Hers. Vampires. They each wielded swords.

"How dare you enter the sanctum of the Bloodborne King?" they hissed in unison. Their voices echoed against the walls, and it sounded like being in a den brimming with vipers.

The Woman undid her trench coat and let it drop to the floor, where it continued to billow and dance, as though trapped in perpetual fall. Underneath, she wore a sleeveless black blouse, bound at her midriff by scarlet satin, and black wide leg pants that fell until they kissed the surface of her leather boots.

"The real question is," She said, as katanas made of translucent green light formed in her hands. "How dare you stand in front of _me_?"

They threw themselves at Her, their blades whistling through the air. She leapt back, but not in time. A slit burst open under her eye, and a drop of blood, like a red pearl, oozed down her cheek. She wiped the blood off with the back of her fist and looked at it.

The Woman's lips spread into a full grin, its manic tinge reaching her eyes. It was a dark smile. It was…inhuman.

The vampires tore towards her again and sparks flew as She swung back, deflecting their edges with immaculate efficiency. She twirled and flipped, her katanas swirling in her grasps like electric fans, striking like green lightning.

The Woman felled Vampire No. 1 by piercing through her wrist, her thigh, and then clean through her lifeless heart. She whirled around, lifting her crossed blades to block an attack from the second vampire. She kicked the vampire in the stomach, and then threw herself into a spinning kick that connected squarely with her jaw. She dashed towards No. 2, who had turned from the impetus, and drove her emerald glass blades into her back.

By now, the third vampire had realized the gravity of their situation. She tried to flee through the front door, but the Woman morphed her left blade into green chains that shot through the air to wrap around her neck. She yanked No. 3, and just as her back hit the floor, She fell from above, pinning her to the carpeting with a green blade to the abdomen.

The vampires wailed and writhed. Vampires could only die by fire, but they felt pain fine.

"Who are you?" the third vampire croaked up at Her.

The Woman's grin grew wider as she twisted the blade inside her. "The Chosen Vessel. The Waterborne. The Abaddon Queen. Akuma-Hime. They call me a lot of things." The vampire's eyes widened with fear as she realized who She was.

The Woman yanked her katana out of the vampire's body, and dropped both blades to the floor. They shattered like glass into nothingness.

"But," the Woman said. "You can call me Buttercup. Now, where is your master?"

The vampire pointed to the door at the end of the hallway.

Buttercup found the Bloodborne King in the Great Hall. He hung from the high rafters in the likeness of a monstrous creature, some abominable cross between a dragon and a bat. It was twice as large as any eighteen-wheeler, and it took up more than half the room. It opened an eye the size of a small car, and fixed Its sulphur yellow orb down on her.

 _Ah, the Waterborne_ , It sighed, Its voice like a distant ocean crashing against the shore. _I have waited long for you._

"Is that right?" said Buttercup.

 _I know who sent you, and what they have asked you to do._ It opened Its other eye. _But consider I also know that which you truly seek. And only I can grant it to you._

Buttercup smirked. "You don't know shit old man."

It huffed, and smoke poured out of its nostrils, twisting and turning over her body. _I know you want power._

The smile melted off her face.

 _I can feel it inside you._ The Bloodborne's voice rose slowly, rumbling like thunder. _Raw. Violent. Untameable. Let me reach inside you and release it, dear child. Let us rule this realm of the unworthy together._

Buttercup hung her head, and for a moment, she seemed conflicted. Or perhaps, merely confused.

 _Let me unleash Behemoth,_ It whispered.

Buttercup lifted her head. "Behemoth?" she said. She was startled. And then, she was angry.

 _That is the name of your power, is it not?_ said the Bloodborne.

"No." Buttercup threw a hand out to her side. "Wrong power."

Green light flashed from her fingertips, solidifying into a sword so long, so ridiculous, that it spanned half the room. She _swung_.

The blade sliced through the air, leaving an arced trail of electric green brilliance in its wake. The demon's head came falling down, and with it, a vile black ooze that splashed against the tiled floor. A much smaller, frailer body came sliding out of the severed head's neck; an old man, bald and naked and curled into a foetal position.

He blinked up at Buttercup through tiny, narrow eyes, weakened from centuries of light deprivation.

"What have you done?" he croaked. And there was something about the way he said it that put a knot in Buttercup's stomach.

But she didn't have time to dwell on the feeling. She felt the presence of three people materialize behind her, and then a hand squeezed her shoulder.

"Good job, kid."

Buttercup turned to the owner of the voice, a man in a black two-piece suit with gold trimmings and a white ascot tie. Although he looked young, roughly in his early thirties, he was anything but. He was handsome, with vampire-silver skin, a clean shave, and a head of sheening black hair slicked into place. If not for the faint scar that ran across his left eye, he would've been a perfect specimen.

"Master," Buttercup said, falling on one knee in reverence. Her giant blade shattered away.

Her 'master' was accompanied by a woman and a younger man. The woman was pale too, and her resemblance to the man in the suit was so striking it was easy to conclude that she was his daughter. She was beautiful, passable for a woman in her early twenties. Her hair fell all the way down her back, midnight black and oiled. Her lips were ruby red and her eyes seemed alive with fire. She wore an attire like Buttercup's, but with a short purple cape over her shoulders.

And then, there was the third newcomer, the younger man. He was caramel with dark bushy hair coiled into kinks. His jaw was angular, his eyes wide and bright, the muscles underneath his silk white t-shirt visible—lean but well-defined. Melanin made it harder to tell that he was a vampire too, but there was a gorgeousness about him that still lent him an inhuman air. He wore a massive broad sword across his back, held in place by a leather strap. This man caught Buttercup's eyes…and winked.

Buttercup's master placed a hand on her head and stroked her hair, almost to the point of a gentle scalp massage. Buttercup closed her eyes and savoured the tacit praise.

"You may rise," he said.

Buttercup obeyed.

By now, the Bloodborne had propped himself up to his knees. He chuckled hoarsely up at the scene before him. "You have turned her into a slave. No. Worse—a dog."

"No," Buttercup's master said. "I have earned her loyalty through trust. And more importantly, through affection. Words you could never understand, Father."

Buttercup was taken aback. " _Father_? Wait, I thought he was the asshole eating children from the surrounding villages."

"Two things can be true at once," her master said.

"Dante," said the Bloodborne, finally uttering the suited man's name. "Your ambitions will be the doom of us all."

"As opposed to what? Your fondness for innocent flesh?" said Dante. "All kingdoms fall Father, to give way to another. And your kingdom is at an end." He looked at Buttercup. "Kill him."

Buttercup blinked. "You…you want me to kill him?"

Dante's eyes were as cool as his tone. "Did I stutter?"

"But—" Buttercup looked at the shrivelled old man. "He's your dad."

"He hasn't been worthy of that title for nearly a century," said Dante. "Do it."

The Bloodborne was laughing now; a dry, heaving, hacking laugh that sounded like it was emanating from his very bones. He wheezed, "So much for loyalty."

Dante allowed himself a small smile. "She'll get there." He nodded at the young man behind him. "Kan."

And Kan moved without hesitation. It took all of one second for him to unsheathe his claymore, step over to the Bloodborne's side, and swing down with a guttural cry.

Buttercup looked away as the decapitated head met the floor with a sickening thud.

Dante eyed his father's lifeless face with cold derision. "I am the Bloodborne now, Father."

Then Buttercup watched him turn around and walk away.

000

"Come to bed."

Buttercup ignored the voice. She was standing at the east window of their bedroom, her arms folded, her brow wrinkled in thought. Her eyes stared unseeing over the front grounds of Dante's fifty-acre estate. It was where she lived with the rest of Dante's sect, in pure opulence and guaranteed security, ready to move at the whisper of her master's command. Moonlight shone against the marble statues dotting the lawn, and twinkled across the twin fountains at the heart of the compound. This place had been home for nearly six years.

But now, her mind flitted unwillingly to thoughts of a different, distant home.

"Babe?"

She turned around this time at the sound of his voice.

Kan was in bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard. He was shirtless, and the soft lamplight lined his already well-defined torso in dark shadows, like a charcoal etching. His was a surreal beauty. On any other night, those abs, that posh accent, would have been enough to draw Buttercup into his arms. But tonight…

"He asked me to kill his father, Kan," she said softly. "Me."

Kan said nothing for a moment. Then he went, "I know."

"He knows about my whole deal with my own father." She shook her head. "How could he ask me to do that?" It wasn't a question for Kan, or herself, or anybody at all. Her words were burdened with anger, but mostly pain.

"Maybe that's exactly why he asked you to do it," said Kan. "He just wants you to get stronger."

"Stronger, sure. But not like that."

"Come to bed."

Buttercup went over to the enormous canopy bed, and sat at its edge. Kan moved over to hug her from behind.

"We were in the room with you when the Bloodborne promised you power in exchange for turning on Dante," he whispered.

Buttercup was silent. Then: "I know."

"You hesitated."

"I know."

"You shouldn't have hesitated."

"I thought he was talking about my powers," said Buttercup. "My _original_ powers. Not…the other Thing."

" _I_ know that. But Dante doesn't. Or even if he does, he'll doubt it. And even if he doesn't, he won't care. You know he's paranoid about loyalty."

"Yeah." Buttercup paused. "I do."

"Eventually, you're going to have to be able to kill when he asks you to."

Buttercup didn't respond to that.

"That's why he rescued you. That's why he rescued all of us. We're here for the cause and we can't forget that. It's the only thing that matters."

"The only thing that matters, huh?" Buttercup murmured.

"Well…maybe not the only thing." Kan planted a kiss on her neck, and then several up to her ear. He tugged on her earlobe with his teeth.

Buttercup twisted around and placed a hand on his face. Then, she leaned in to kiss him.

Hours later, as the digital clock on their bedside blinked its steady way to 3 AM, Buttercup got out of bed. Kan was still asleep, and it occurred to her that she was going to miss the sound of his gentle snoring.

She put on her clothes and bent over to kiss his face. Then she grabbed a duffel bag from under the bed, and climbed out the window.

000

 _Good evening, and thank you for choosing British Airways, direct to the United States. My name's Steve and I'll be your captain. Weather's perfectly fair and we should arrive at JFK International in good time. As soon as we reach cruising altitude, our crew will begin serving tea and other refreshments. So just sit back, relax, and enjoy our in-flight entertainment. Cheers!_

The soft British accent over the cabin's speakers did little to calm Buttercup's nerves. She tightened her seatbelt, looked out the window, and sighed. God, she hated flying on airplanes. No, the irony was not lost on her.

"Can't wait to see my folks for Thanksgiving," the woman in the middle seat next to her said.

Buttercup looked at her. She was pretty, and blonde, and a little too smiley for Buttercup's taste. She had an American accent, with a slight Texan twang. She reminded Buttercup of Bubbles, before… Well, before everything changed.

"You going back to see family?" the woman asked.

Buttercup hesitated before answering. "Yeah," she said, wishing the woman would leave her alone. "I guess so." She looked back out the window.

"That's wonderful," she heard the woman gush sweetly. "Just remember: you will rue the day of your birth. You will cast your eyes to the stars and gnash your teeth, begging for the sweet release of Death!"

Buttercup whipped her head back.

The woman was still grinning at her, eyes wide and innocent.

"The hell did you just say to me?" Buttercup said.

And now, the woman looked startled. "I…I said I've been craving turkey and mashed potatoes all week."

Buttercup stared, bewildered. The woman's smile fell apart. "I'll just watch TV," she said meekly, turning away.

Buttercup blinked hard and shook her head. Maybe she was just tired. She rested her head back and closed her eyes, and eventually, sleep found her. She sank deeply, a million miles from the surface of the real world. But even there, she could not hide from the things she had seen and done.

The darkness haunted her dreams all the way home.

* * *

 ** _And that's all folks! Hit that review button to let me know what you think! Take care of yourselves._**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Happy belated Thanksgiving guys! I know it's already December but I only just finished this chapter and I hope you'll enjoy it anyway._**

 ** _Thanks to everyone who put this story on their alert list._**

 ** _Hope y'all enjoy Chapter 4!_**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4**

 **KEN**

Ken glanced at his phone for the umpteenth time that morning. He tapped the screen, cycling through three different messaging apps, all of which would have notified him if he had a message in the first place. Still, he cycled through them and let the disappointment drain into his stomach.

The elderly woman sitting across from him watched him, a pen in one hand poised over a small leather bound book. "Earth to Ken," she said, not unkindly.

"Sorry," he sighed. "Give me a second." He cycled through the apps one more time, and then placed his phone on the centre table between them, screen-side-down. "Sorry," he said again, sitting back.

She smiled. "You're a little preoccupied today."

"Yeah. Just waiting for someone to confirm a thing." He shrugged.

"You look upset about it."

"I'm not upset."

"I didn't say you were."

Ken paused. "Maybe a little anxious."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ken paused again. He turned to gaze out the window, at the maple tree shedding crisp golden leaves onto the sidewalk.

"I want to assume," she continued, "that it is why you needed to meet so urgently. Are you still doing Thanksgiving dinner with your mother?"

"Of course. Every year, I offer to go by earlier and help, but I'm a nuisance in the kitchen she says. I'll be there an hour to lunch time. As always."

"So everything is as it should be."

Ken nodded.

"Except for whatever reason it is you keep checking your phone."

Ken looked at her. "Oh my god, you know why I'm here. I'll bet you've known since I called. Can you just say it already?"

The woman smiled. She was of Indian descent, grey and gracious in her old age. Every crinkle in her skin spoke of a lifetime of kindness and burdens. Burdens that were not her own. Burdens like Ken's. "Maybe I do," she said. "But I'd still rather hear it from you."

Ken turned his gaze back out the window. A dog was peeing on the tree now with its owner waiting close by, munching on a pretzel and scrolling through his device.

"The phone, Ken," she pushed. "From whom are you waiting to hear?"

He didn't respond. Instead he said slowly, "It's…hard this time of year, you know? How the hell am I supposed to be thankful when ten years ago, around this very time of year, I had to watch my dad…" His voice cracked and he went silent again.

She waited patiently.

He was picking his words carefully. "It's…impossible…to sit at that table and stare at his empty chair. It's impossible to do it every year. And the one thing that would make it marginally, _marginally_ easier?" He laughed bitterly. "Gone."

"By 'the one thing' of course, you mean your sisters."

"You know what pisses me off the most about them?" Ken said suddenly. "They act like they're the only ones who loved Dad, the only ones who suffered when he died. Shit, I have feelings too. But you know what I didn't do? Runaway. I _stayed_ dammit. And I showed up. I _show_ up. Every year. Every month. Every week. I show up for Mom, and I show up for our family. They act like they're the only ones in pain."

He seethed as she wrote in her notebook. She didn't nod as she wrote. No irritating 'interesting' muttered. She just wrote, the tip of her pen scratching gently as it marked the page.

"And I'm not trying to be an ass, but…" he said. "But…"

"But?" she asked without looking up.

"I am his son _._ He made them in a lab, but I have his freakin' DNA. He was my dad. _My_ dad." There were tears in his eyes. He sniffed. "Ugh, now I do feel like an asshole. Jesus Christ."

"Have you said these things to her?" she said.

"Who? Mom?"

"You know who I mean. There's only one of them you see every day."

"What, are you crazy? She'd punch me through a wall."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"Yeah, well, I'd hurt her feelings and then she'd cry, and I wouldn't be able to stand that either." He paused. "Even when it comes to our pain, I put hers first."

She looked up. "Yes, that's a well-established pattern you've got there."

Ken eyed his phone on the table and didn't say anything.

His therapist tapped her pen against her bottom lip. "Fine. Check it."

He grabbed the phone and cycled through his messaging apps. He stared blankly at the screen, and this time he put it in his pocket.

"I told her to come home with me this year," he murmured.

"And I assume she hasn't responded?"

Ken shook his head and smiled wryly. "So everything is as it should be."

"Maybe this year she'll surprise you."

"No point keeping my hopes up," said Ken. He stood up.

"We aren't done."

"Yeah, but I better head out or I won't make it home on time. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice."

Her smile was weak. "You didn't give me much of a choice. Next time, call before you're at my door."

"Will do. By the way—" He paused awkwardly. "You can like, come spend Thanksgiving with us if you don't have plans."

She looked surprised. "What gives you that impression?"

"No shade, but you _did_ agree to see a patient on Thanksgiving morning. I'm grateful and all, but you need to set some boundaries."

"My niece and her husband are taking me out to lunch."

"That sounds nice. You're not making that up, right? Because seriously, it's okay. Mom always makes too much food anyway."

She smiled. "Goodbye, Ken."

"Happy Thanksgiving Dr. Bakshi." And he closed the door behind him.

000

It was nearly noon, and Ken was still standing outside his mother's house. His Lyft had left him there fifteen minutes ago, and he had almost summed up the mental fortitude to go inside—but not quite yet.

Memories flooded his head as he stared at the building he had called home almost all his life. It was a minimalist structure: three simple whitewashed blocks, the middle one with a row of oval windows on the top floor The windows were iconic, one for each of his sisters. Even his childhood home was a concrete reminder that everything revolved around them.

Still, in his mind's eye, he could see his father teaching him to ride a bike on the lawn, their laughter ringing in the summer air. He could hear his voice reading bedtime stories at night, his gentle baritone singing as he cooked pancakes in the morning. He could feel his embrace. Ten years later, and he could still smell his father when he thought about him hard enough. He could thank his perfect recall for that, probably the most important trait he'd inherited from 'the Professor'. What he didn't appreciate was the hurt the memories brought with them. Sometimes he wished he was capable of forgetting.

A bloodcurdling scream came from inside the house, shredding through Ken's heart.

"Mom!" he cried, and he tore towards the front door. He almost tripped leaping over the front steps. He bumped into a vase running through the corridor. "Mom!"

"Ken?" her mother's voice floated from the kitchen.

He took a turn into the kitchen…and stopped.

There were two people at the kitchen island. The first was a petite woman with raven pixie-cut hair, seated on a stool with her back to Ken. The second was a pretty pear-shaped woman in her mid-forties, her dark bob already streaked with grey hairs; his mother. "Oh hey honey," she said. She was standing over the stranger, opening a Band-Aid.

"I—I heard you scream."

"Not me," she said, and stuck the Band-Aid somewhere on the stranger's face.

"Ow, ow, ow, watch it!" said the stranger.

Ken recognized that raspy voice.

"Ironically, you were always the biggest baby when it came to cuts and bruises," his mom said to the 'stranger', tut-tutting. "You're not invulnerable to infection anymore, you really should treat your injuries better."

"Buttercup?" said Ken.

Buttercup turned around in the stool. Their mother had placed the Band-Aid beneath her eye, and Ken immediately wondered what kind of battle had almost cost her half her sight. Probably one involving swords. It was weird that that was his first thought, when he hadn't seen his sister in what—six, seven years?

Buttercup got off the stool and smirked. "Hey baby bro." She came over and slipped into his arms.

Ken hugged her back, not entirely certain that he wasn't dreaming. "When did…how did…?"

She leaned back to look at him. "You grew tall."

"You cut your hair," said Ken.

"You grew—" She poked his face. "Handsome. The ladies must love you."

"Well, yes, but the men more so."

Buttercup blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Don't look at me like that." His face was expressionless. "Not my fault you missed the coming out party. We had macarons, strippers, and a piñata."

Buttercup looked back at her mother.

"He's teasing you, sweetheart," their mother said, waving off her confusion.

Ken shrugged. "I do that now."

"Tease people or date guys?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Buttercup grinned.

"Okay, enough, you two," their mother said. She was wiping tears out of her eyes. "Get out of my kitchen so I can start cooking."

" _Start_ cooking?" said Ken. "You haven't even started yet?"

"I mean—" Their mother shrugged as she approached the refrigerator. "The turkey's been marinating in the fridge for two days. I'll just pop it in the oven."

"Yeah, but it's almost lunch time already." Ken walked over to her and cupped her face in his hands. "Is everything okay?"

His mother nodded hard. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I was…just considering not doing Thanksgiving this year is all—"

"What?"

"—It felt too hard and I was getting anxious about the whole thing and…" She took his hands and kissed them. "But it's fine. Your sister is back, and everything is great now. We can do Thanksgiving. We have something to be thankful for." She smiled past him at Buttercup, and she smiled back.

Ken allowed her words to sink in. "Um…sure."

"Hell," his mother laughed. "I should've gotten a ham too. There're more of us this year."

"There are still only three of us, Mom."

"No, there'll be five of us."

Ken was confused. "Did Blossom call? Is she bringing a guest?"

"She didn't need to. All your sisters are coming back. I can feel it."

Ken forced a smile. "Oh. Okay."

"It'll be a Thanksgiving miracle."

"Not a thing Mom, but sure."

"You'll see. Now both of you…" She pointed at the door. "Out."

000

Ken sat with Buttercup on the couch in the living room, video game controllers in hand, playing Mario Kart. Every now and again, one of them would let a swear word slip; sometimes in reaction to skidding off an edge, but most typically in response to some asshat deploying a blue shell.

"I'm not sure I understand," Ken said, unconsciously tilting his gamepad.

"What don't you understand?" Buttercup said. She always played video games with her tongue sticking out of her mouth.

"So are you a vampire or not?"

"What did I just say?"

"Obviously you didn't say it clearly enough. You're like a water-bending magician vampire queen?"

Buttercup shot him a quick glare and then returned her attention to the screen. "I'm a Waterborne. Or _the_ Waterborne, depending on who you ask. Which basically just means I was baptized with water into my sect, not blood. It's rare." She looked at him again. "It also means I was never bitten."

Ken looked at her. "Okay?"

They stared at each other for a few wordless seconds.

"Also," Buttercup said, looking back at the screen with a shrug. "I can do magic and shit. Bowser just knocked you into a lava pit."

"Huh?" Ken turned to the game. "Dammit."

"So what have you been up to?"

"Not hanging out with vampires that's for sure," said Ken.

"I assumed. But what do you do? Intern at some super science lab I bet."

Ken shook his head. "The offers came. From all sorts of places. MIT. Apple. NASA. A personal letter from Elon Musk..."

Buttercup frowned. "Who?"

"Yeah you've definitely been gone a while," Ken muttered. "Where did those vampires have you living, under a rock? Doesn't matter anyway. I never went."

Buttercup frowned. "Really? With your brains? Why?"

"I…" Ken paused. "I…stayed."

Buttercup glanced at him. "What does that mean?"

"Means exactly what it sounds like," Ken said, as casually as he could, trying to mask the bitterness at the edge of his voice. "I was in college before I hit puberty, which was ridiculous in itself. And then by the time I got out, everyone was gone. Mom needed me, and so did Blossom. So…I stayed."

Buttercup paused the game to face him properly. "Dude."

"Okay, _you_ don't get to do that."

"What?"

"It's done, it's past, let's not make a big deal out of it, okay? Un-pause the game."

"Okay, fine, Jesus." Buttercup resumed the video game.

"And anyway, I like my job fine. I work with Blossom, and we have fun, and she pays me well, and I'm good at my job, so can you _not_ right now?"

"Did you have to shoot that shell at me just then?"

"Yeah well, you deserved it."

Suddenly, there was a flash at the corner of their eyes and a series of successive smashes from the kitchen. Ken leapt out of the sofa but Buttercup was faster. He found her in the kitchen doorway, staring at disbelief at the scene. His jaw dropped.

Bubbles was standing on the kitchen island, and her appearance seemed to have displaced a stack of ceramic plates. There were pieces of broken clay all over the floor, and Bubbles was staring at them mortified. "Sorry," she said meekly. "I was off by a few metres."

Their Mom wasn't upset though. There were tears streaming down her face. "I told you," she said between sobs. "I told you it would happen. A Thanksgiving miracle."

000

Ken was sitting outside on the front steps when the taxi pulled up. Blossom started to step out of the vehicle, stopped to stare at him in surprise for a few seconds, and then shut the door behind her. She sauntered towards him as the taxi drove off, the ends of her scarf and coat trembling in the November wind, her heels clacking against the cement.

"Ah, if it isn't the great and marvellous Ms. Blossom," said Ken. "We've been expecting you."

"Expecting me?"

"Well, Mom has anyway. Did you call to tell her you were coming today?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

Blossom was startled all of a sudden. "At least I don't think I did. But I was pretty drunk last night."

"I think our dear mother may have willed you into coming with the magic of Thanksgiving miracles."

"Thanksgiving miracles? That's not a thing."

"That's what I said, and yet here you are," said Ken, with a taut smile.

"Wait, are you not happy to see me? I thought you wanted me to come."

"I did. But I am wondering what made you change your mind."

"What are you, the mind police? I dunno." Blossom sighed and shrugged. "I haven't been sleeping well lately, and…I realized I missed Mom. Also, I had a feeling you'd never forgive me if I didn't."

"You weren't wrong," he muttered.

"Okay? Then why are you sitting here looking like your puppy died."

Ken looked her right in the eye. "Bubbles and Buttercup are back."

Blossom's eyes widened. But otherwise, she didn't move a muscle. "Where are they?" she finally asked, almost in a whisper.

"Inside. With mom. Setting the table."

Blossom just stood there, looking stunned. And then: "So then what are you doing here? It's _them_ you're not happy to see?"

"I'm not unhappy to see anyone, Blossom. They're my sisters too. You're happy. They're happy. Mom's downright ecstatic. We're all one big happy family."

"You sound super pissy for someone who's happy."

"Did you know Buttercup is a Waterborne?"

"What the hell is a water-born?"

"Or that Bubbles is three hundred years old now?"

Blossom made a face. " _What?_ "

"Or was it seven hundred? I don't even remember but I was wearing that same expression like half an hour ago. Something happened to her. Something about time dilation and dimensional displacement. To us, she's been gone almost ten years, but to _her—_ " He got on his feet. "She's been away for centuries. _Centuries_ , Blossom! Somehow, she was fine being away from us for… Hundreds. Of. Years. And now she sounds like friggin' Doctor Who when she talks. Shit, she might be smarter than me now—"

"Yeah, this is way too much way too fast," Blossom said, rubbing her temples. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because they moved on, Blossom," said Ken. "When they were leaving, what they said was they were going to find a way to bring Dad back, but in their own weird ways, they moved on. We stayed stuck here mourning the loss of our family while they were out there fighting vampires and touring alien planets."

Blossom waited for him to finish, and then she stared at him as he panted, his eyes glistening with tears.

And then, carefully, gently, she said: "I doubt it's that simple, Ken."

Ken looked away and shook his head. "Yeah. You would say that."

Blossom tried to ignore that. "Look, just…let's go inside and then we can keep talking, alright?"

Ken didn't say anything for about a minute. Then he sat back on the front steps. "You go in," he said. "I'm sure you're dying to see them."

"Are you sure?" she said. "I'd rather go in with you. Us left-behinders ought to stick together, don't you think?" And she smiled.

Ken offered a weak smile in return. "I'll come back inside. You go ahead."

Blossom nodded. She bent over to kiss him on the forehead, and then walked past him to the front door. "Hey," she said over her shoulder before walking in. "No matter what, you will always be the best of us. The one who stayed. I know that, and Mom knows that. Okay?"

Ken didn't answer. After a moment, he heard the door close. It wasn't long before the girls' excited squeals filled the autumn air.

Ken stay on the front steps, waiting for the mental fortitude to go back inside the house. He waited, and he waited, and he waited, expecting the fortitude to return. It took a long time for him to realize that it wasn't coming back. But when he did, Ken stood up and got off the front steps.

Then he went home.

* * *

 ** _Whew! And that's all folks! This chapter was an especially hard one to write, because I had to confront all the different ways in which these characters have hurt each other and are broken. And it's only the beginning! Anyway, hit that review button to let me know what you think! Take care of yourselves._**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Hey guys! I've got a new chapter for ya, fresh out of the oven! Thanks to everyone who put this story on their alert list. And thanks to This is the Real Deal for the generous reviews._**

 ** _Hope y'all enjoy Chapter 5!_**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5**

 **Goat**

 _The person you are trying to reach is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message after the beep or hang up now. (Beep!)_

"Hey, this is the…I don't know, sixth message I've left you? Sorry about all that stuff I said in the last one. Well, I assume it wasn't good; I can barely remember. Mom broke out the sherry after dinner. I was just mad you weren't picking up. Anyway, don't you think it's about time you called me back? This is petty even for you. And the girls wanted to catch up and you're being kind of an asshole with a capital A right now. _Also_ you have our business phone and I don't know if I have any business today. Just…call me, okay? Whatever this is about, we can talk it out. Love you."

Blossom sighed and ended the call. She looked up at the door to Ken's apartment. He wasn't sure if he was in there or not. For the past fifteen minutes, she'd been knocking, calling his number, and yelling his name, roughly in that order again and again. She briefly considered breaking in. It would take no effort at all to push through the door locks. But the last time she'd done that—for good reason, she maintains—Ken had cussed her out on it for a whole week. Ken was vicious when he got mad, and more especially, when his privacy was invaded. He was creative with the insults too. Blossom really did not want to be called an Incredible-Sulk-Ass, Sophie-Turner-Reject again.

So instead, she knocked one last time for good measure.

The door to the next apartment swung open. "Oh my God, could you knock _any_ louder?" An angry face popped around the doorway. A twenty-something year old brunette with freckles. Blossom had met quite a few of Ken's neighbours, but she did not recognize this one. Last tenant must have moved out.

"Do you know if he's in there?" Blossom asked.

"What am I, his babysitter?" she said. Then her eyes widened. She had extraordinarily sleepy eyes. Or maybe she was just high. "Oh my God, you're Liberty Belle. Oh my God, I'm so sorry! You're Liberty Belle!"

Blossom wasn't in costume but very few strangers called her by her real name. Which she preferred, to be honest. These days, it made her uncomfortable to be called 'Blossom' by total strangers, especially if they weren't old enough to have been around when she served the city with her sisters. Back when she _did_ go by 'Blossom' alone. The worst fans, the crazy ones, shortened her name to 'Blossie' like they'd known each other for years. At least this one didn't seem crazy.

The neighbour came up to her in a cream bathrobe. "I'm Julie, and I'll bet you hear this all the time, but I am for realsies your biggest fan."

Blossom broke out her well-practised smile, broad, and pearly, and bursting with grace. "Thank you. Have you seen my brother around by any chance?"

"Do you mind if we take a selfie?"

"Um…sure."

They posed. The woman pressed her cheek a little too hard against Blossom's, and then took several shots.

"Oh my God, thank you," she said, stepping back, her thumbs already flashing over her phone screen to post them to Facebook, or Twitter, or Instagram, or whichever was 'lit' these days. Were the kids still saying 'lit'? Blossom had always been too old for her peers.

"Like I was saying—" Blossom began.

"Yeah, he came back last night. I know because he tried putting his key in my door, and I'll bet he was wasted. Then I heard him go out this morning, but I don't think he's come back yet."

Blossom released a sigh of relief. At least it sounded like he was alright. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Hey look, we already have a hundred likes!" Julie said, shoving her phone back under Blossom's nose.

She'd posted to Instagram. The caption read: _Just chillin with the GOAT! Stay salty bishes! #goat #ppg #libertybelle #libertysaves #blessed #youdontwantthissmoke_

Blossom blinked. "Did you just call me a goat?"

"Of course," Julie said, with so much earnestness that it took Blossom aback.

"Um…okay. I'm gonna go." She backed away slowly and then turned around. Maybe Julie was a crazy fan after all.

"How do you know Ken anyway?" she called after her.

Blossom stopped and said over her shoulder. "He's my brother."

"Damn. I didn't know y'all had a brother. I thought there were only three of you."

And as she heard those words, the truth of the situation began to dawn on Blossom. "No," she said softly, before walking away. "There are four."

000

 _(Beep!)_

"Hey, so I guess this is message number seven. I've been doing some thinking and I just realized that you might be feeling a little—well, I won't say jealous, maybe left out? When you said you were upset about the way Bubbles and Buttercup moved on, I didn't realize that even the way we were acting yesterday felt like we were moving on without you. And maybe in some ways it's always felt like that to you. I dunno…like there were three of us instead of four? Ugh. That sounded better put together in my head. Just call me okay? We can figure this out. Love you."

Blossom pushed the doorbell a third time, extending it so she could hear the dull buzzing from behind the apartment door.

Finally, the door swung open. "What, what, what?"

Blossom didn't lift her finger off the doorbell. She just glared at the tall, handsome olive-skinned man as the doorbell deafened them both.

"I get it! I'll answer faster next time. Can you stop that before you break the damn thing? Jesus."

Blossom released the doorbell. "Is my brother here?"

The man made a face. "Ken?"

"Do I have another brother?"

"No, why would he be here?"

Now it was Blossom who made a face. "What do you mean 'why would he be here'? Why _wouldn't_ he be here? I don't have time for your shady bullshit today, Peter."

"Ken and I broke up."

"That would be the day," Blossom muttered.

"No, seriously," Peter said. He tucked a lock of his long, dark hair behind his ear. "Or more specifically, he broke up with me. Said I was taking him for granted or some melodramatic nonsense like that."

Blossom was in shock. Then: "Well…hallelujah," she said dryly.

He shook his head. "How come you never liked me?"

"Um…because you're a cheating piece of shit?"

"It was _one_ time and he forgave me, so why won't you!"

"Because he only stayed with you because he has daddy issues. Also, you are too old for him. Also, you never claim him publicly and he deserves better than that. Also, you put aubergine emojis under random dudes' Instagram posts. Also once a cheater always a cheater. Also, did I already mention you were a piece of shit?"

Peter shook his head. "I can't believe I used to stan for you."

"Well, stan this." And she gave him the middle finger.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Okay, we're done here," and attempted to close the door.

Blossom held it open with the same middle finger. "I need to know where he went."

"I don't know where he went."

"Don't lie to me. I can tell when people are lying to me." Her tone was growing darker.

"I'm serious."

Blossom nudged the door open, in spite of the pressure he was applying with both his hands, and stepped up to him.

"Are you kidding me? This is a home invasion! I could call the cops on you!"

"Which one? Officer Ramirez whose father's surgery I helped pay for, or Captain O'Neal whose sister-in-law I saved from a burning building?"

Peter fumed.

"Tell me where he is."

Peter looked away and folded his arms. "Look, he called me last night pretty hammered. Asked if he could have the dream house for a few days."

"The dream house?"

"Yeah, it's our name for this cabin in the woods my family owns. I didn't think too much of it when he called, but then he came by this morning for the keys." He shrugged. "And I thought, well I'm not using it, why the hell not?"

"Where's the cabin?"

Peter sighed. "Blossom—"

"Where's the cabin, Peter?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because he told me not to! Alright? He told me not to."

Blossom stared at Peter, stunned.

"His exact words were," said Peter, "'Tell her I just need some space. I'll call her when I get back'."

Blossom listened without so much as a blink. Then she swallowed and said, "Okay. Did…did he say when he was coming back?"

Peter shook his head.

Blossom didn't say anything for a moment. "If he does reach out," she finally said, "will you let me know?"

Peter shrugged. "We'll see."

As Blossom walked away, he called after her, "You're not so great either, you know? Otherwise, how come _you_ didn't even know we were over."

Blossom tried to ignore his taunts, her stomach turning. Inside the elevator, she got a notification on her phone.

A Liberty Red Alert. ' _ETA 3 Hrs'_ it read. Today of all days.

"For crying out loud," Blossom muttered.

000

 _(Beep!)_

"So: message number eight. And this is the last one, I promise. I spoke to Peter. He said you wanted space and that's…that's okay, I guess. But…I just don't want this to be like the last time, you know? I don't think we should be apart for that long. That sounded weird. Scratch that. What I mean is I don't want you to be mad at me for that long. Whatever I did, or didn't do, I'm sorry. Call me when you're feeling ready. I promise to listen. …I love you."

Blossom burst into the house and headed for the living room. Her sudden entrance startled her family, the three of whom were curled up together on the couch watching _Frozen._

"Where's the fire?" said Bubbles.

"What did your brother say," said Mom.

"He's out of town and said to leave him alone," Blossom said. "Here, I found this on the front step." She handed her mother a package labelled '(Mrs.) Kathie Keane-Utonium.'

"What is it?" Mom asked.

" _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ on Blu-Ray," said Blossom. She'd scanned the packaging with x-ray vision. "I assume you ordered it off Amazon last night?"

"Buttercup said she wanted us to see it."

"You know you have a Netflix account, right?"

"Wait," said Buttercup. "What do you mean he said to leave him alone."

"Exactly what it sounds like," said Blossom.

"I don't get it, what did we do?" said Buttercup.

"Your brother is a sensitive soul," their mother said.

"No, he's being childish. We haven't seen him in years, and this is when he chooses to go AWOL? We were literally playing video games yesterday afternoon. He seemed fine to me."

"Well, obviously the issue here is a lot deeper than it seems," said Bubbles. "My guess would be that we have been away for so long that we're closer to intruders than long-lost family in his eyes. You should remember that he was just a kid when we left. I doubt he feels about us the same way we feel about him."

Mom seemed hurt by her words. "I'm sure that's not it, sweetheart."

"I'm not complaining." Bubbles shrugged. "I'm just offering a hypothesis. It is what it is. I certainly don't blame him."

"Look," Blossom sighed. "He said he just needs some space right now."

"What he needs to do is… _let it go_ ," said Buttercup, singing the last phrase as she rolled her eyes.

Blossom frowned at her. "You're not funny."

"Really? I think I'm hilarious," Buttercup said, returning her attention to the TV screen.

"Mom, do you still have my old Liberty Belle suit?" Blossom asked.

Her mother thought about it. "I never threw it out, so I should. Why?"

"I'm going to need it. Ken took my suits to the dry cleaners, but I don't know which dry cleaners, and my extra one is in his apartment."

"How can you not know which dry cleaners?" said Mom.

"Because Ken handles that sort of thing."

"It sounds like you've been taking advantage of your brother."

"He's my assistant! That's what he does! It's not some regular dry cleaners either. It's some special place that won't ruin the proprietary fabric."

"You're explaining an awful lot right now," said Bubbles, with a small smile.

"If he has an extra suit, why not just break into his place and take it?" said Buttercup.

Blossom and Mrs. Utonium shook their heads in almost perfect sync.

"Hell no," said Blossom.

"Ken can be…testy about his privacy," their mother said carefully.

"Translation: he becomes a raging asshole. Hard pass," said Blossom. "Although, I don't even remember where I put the old suit."

"Check the suitcase on the top shelf of my wardrobe," Mom said, and Blossom left the room.

The three of them resumed watching their movie.

Ten minutes later, Blossom returned. "Yeah, I don't think this is going to work."

Her family turned around. It was Buttercup who burst into laughter first.

Blossom was wearing what looked like a white-and-blue one-piece swimsuit with a heart in the middle of her chest; blue gloves with cuffs so long and wide they looked like the cheap rubber kind you got from Home Depot; and blue Timberland sneakers that could've done with a good wash. She had a headband on with giant golden star smack in the middle of her forehead.

Bubbles' lips spread into a wide grin, but they didn't go beyond that.

"I remember this looking so much better back then," Blossom whined.

"Aw, but you look adorable honey," her mother said.

"I'm not supposed to look adorable. I'm supposed to look badass."

"And right now, she just looks like…ass," Buttercup said, bursting into a second fit of laughter.

"I'm sure we can find you a suitable replacement until Ken gets back," said Bubbles.

"I can't wait that long. I got a Liberty alert."

Mom's eyes widened. "Oh my. What category and how long until it hits?"

"Red, and—" Blossom glanced at her phone. "About two and a half hours."

"What the hell is a 'Liberty alert' and is it going to make me roll my eyes?" Buttercup asked.

"The city has a recon department that notifies me when there's trouble headed towards Townsville. I get the alerts through an app," said Blossom. "Red usually means something from Monster Isle. Although these days, it's more likely to be a mecha from the Sons of Mojo; don't ask, long story."

"That sounds useful," said Bubbles. "Better than our old hotline."

"Yeah. Welcome to the Surveillance Age."

Buttercup gasped. "I just had the best idea ever."

"Why does that immediately make me anxious?" said Blossom.

"We should go with you!"

Blossom sighed. "What?"

Buttercup narrowed her eyes. "What's that face for? You think we can't keep up or something?"

"No offense," Blossom said carefully. "But you couldn't keep up ten years ago."

Buttercup looked stung. Then she said coolly, "And whose goddamn fault is that?"

And now, it was Blossom who looked wounded.

"Okay girls, play nice," Mom said, her tone trimmed with nervousness.

But a cold silence had already descended upon the room. Bubbles looked from Blossom to Buttercup, more intrigued than concerned.

Then: Buttercup forced a smile. "I'm just saying—this isn't ten years ago. I'm a lot stronger now, with a whole bunch of skills beyond anything you could imagine. And I'll bet Bubbles is too."

Bubbles shrugged. "I have a trick or two up my sleeve."

"I'm not trying to start a fight, Buttercup," said Blossom, rubbing her temples. "I'm still bullet-proof. I can survive a laser blast to the face _and_ a five megaton blast—at least! The Sons of Mojo know this, and so they never hold back attacking Townsville. You think I want to get you killed twenty-four hours after you just got back?"

"Your sister has a point," Mom said.

"I'm actually still bullet-proof," said Bubbles. "Well, mostly. Bullets break the skin but can't puncture my muscles. Not that it matters. I have a suit with a pretty high kinetic absorption and deflection capacity, which means I can withstand quite a bit of damage in a fight. And there's also the tiny matter of me being able to do this—"

Neon blue sparks engulfed her. In a blink, she was standing in the doorway, then next to Blossom, and then she was back in her seat. She winked.

Blossom released a tired sigh. "But Buttercup—"

Buttercup glared and…suddenly, Blossom wasn't in the room anymore.

She was floating in a world of infinite black, her hair rippling out from her head like a million fibrous tentacles. It felt like falling through water, and the air was like molasses in her throat. Her eyes widened as she flailed helplessly, her fingers clawing at eternal nothingness, her feet never finding ground. She opened her mouth, but couldn't hear herself scream. She was trapped in a lightless nightmare. Forever. And ever. And—

Then Blossom was back in the living room, gasping for breath. Buttercup was still glaring at her, but now she had a smug smile on her face.

"I don't need to be bullet-proof," Buttercup said darkly. "You know why? Thirty-one of Jin's Commandments, seven Yields of Asha, mastery over both Mei _and_ Xian's Cardinal Winds, sixty-six of Mulu's Prayers, and nine of Siris's Riddles." She stopped. "Granted my Freyr's Dances are…problematic, but I could still drown you in your own stomach fluid if I wanted."

"Buttercup!" her mother snapped.

Buttercup shrugged. "Hey," she said. "She wanted to know."

Blossom was still panting, as she looked at her two sisters through new eyes. Who were these two women next to her mother? Did she still know them at all?

Buttercup rose to her feet. "So…are we doing this or not?"

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading this! I've been trying to work faster on the chapters, and I hope I can put out at least two more before Christmas Day. Hit that review button to let me know what you think! Take care of yourselves._**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Hey guys! Christmas is almost here, and I'm hoping to release something Christmas themed in time for December 25_** ** _th_** ** _. Until then, I hope Chapter 6 will do._**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6**

 **Foghorn**

It started as a pinpoint of light, brilliant and twinkling. Slowly, the light expanded, ripping space apart as it grew into a ring of sparking blue flames. Three women stepped through the portal onto the rooftop of the Townsville Beach Hotel.

The first woman, Bubbles, was the creator of the portal. She was in a silver full-body suit, skin tight and seamless, and in her hand, she held what looked like a wand with a glowing bulb at the end of it. She pointed it over her shoulder, and the portal winked away with a sound like radio static.

The second woman, Buttercup, was in a large black trench coat that seemed to have a mind of its own. It undulated in seeming defiance to the strong winds on the roof, clutching onto her small frame with a nearly humorous desperation.

And the third woman who was, of course, Blossom, was standing between them. She had opted for not changing out of her old duds, her costume from a bygone era when she was just starting out as Liberty Belle. Hence the swimsuit design, the large gloves, and the Timberland sneakers; they made her look like she'd been cut out of an outdated magazine.

Together, they walked to the edge of the roof and surveyed their surroundings twelve-floors from the ground.

The skies were hidden behind rolling, grey clouds, and the entirety of the beachfront seemed washed out, colour-graded in monochrome. Fast winds vexed the sea into a frenzy; it spat and roared with every crash against the ashen sand. And the air was thick with fog. They could barely see beyond the shore.

"I remember this place being a lot cheerier," said Buttercup.

"Is this weather natural?" said Bubbles, lifting her gaze to the clouds, and blinking when a drop of water plopped onto her eyelid.

"Probably not," said Blossom. "Give me a second."

And with x-ray vision, she pierced the veil of the fog. "Shit," she murmured.

"What is it?" said Buttercup, and there were traces of excitement in her voice.

"A giant robot," said Blossom.

"Oh," said Buttercup, her excitement deflating.

Bubbles raised a brow. "But that's what we expected, isn't it?"

"Yes," Blossom said. "But that robot is being led by at least a hundred boats, each with three to five Sons of Mojo armed to the teeth. That's at least three hundred foot soldiers."

"Three hundred foot soldiers?" Buttercup said, a little taken aback.

Blossom turned off her x-ray vision to look at her sisters. "It's an incoming invasion."

There was silence between them for a moment. Then Buttercup's lips spread into a wicked grin. Her eyes gleamed with malice. "Three hundred foot soldiers," she repeated under her breath. Blossom threw her a concerned look.

"Who are the Sons of Mojo anyway?" said Bubbles. "You mentioned them at home. I assume they're not the actual sons of Mojo?"

"No," said Blossom, "but they might as well be. They're an army of hyper-intelligent apes Mojo himself bred before disappearing. No one's sure what happened to him. He might have died from grief when he heard about the Professor's death, or travelled to the stars like Bubbles did. Either theory, plus a dozen others, are equally plausible. Anyway, the Sons treat him like a god, and they're fighting for a world where mankind has been eradicated and ape-kind is the globally dominant species."

"So… _Planet of the Apes_ then?" said Bubbles.

Blossom shrugged. "Pretty much. Anyway, the robot's manipulating the weather; probably pumping sea water and transforming it into this fog."

"They wanted to hide the fact that they were coming in their numbers," said Bubbles.

"Exactly. Dammit." Blossom's lips stretched into a thin line, as she unlocked her phone to open the Liberty Alert app. "That also means the classification everyone got was wrong. This isn't a red alert. It's a—"

The red hazard symbol on her screen morphed into a pulsating black skull, just as the air was filled with a blaring, sonorous noise. The sound seemed to reverberate everything around them, from the skies above to the marrow in their own bones.

"An invasion," Blossom finished.

"Excuse me!" someone yelled behind them.

The sisters turned to see a man in a suit with his hands on his hips, looking worried. Behind him, security personnel waited by the roof access. He walked towards Blossom, casting Bubbles and Buttercup confused looks as he did.

"Johnson," he said loudly over the foghorn, shaking Blossom's hand. "I'm the hotel manager."

"Hey. How do you do?"

"Not great at the moment," he said, folding his arms in an attempt to mask his anxiety. "Would love an explanation as to why a red alert just got upgraded to a black alert."

"I'm guessing you didn't evacuate the hotel?" said Blossom.

"It was a red alert. We didn't think it was necessary. But now—"

"I understand. The fog misled all of us."

"It's off season, but I've still got about five hundred guests here. I don't know if we can clear everybody out in time. Do we still need to?"

"Better safe than sorry," said Blossom. "Go back inside, and try to get everyone to gather on the compound. We have a plan."

Johnson nodded and strode off, disappearing through the roof access with his security guards.

"We have a plan?" said Bubbles.

"Standard protocol," said Blossom. "We need to end this."

"Duh," said Buttercup.

"No, E.N.D. as in E-N-D. E for 'evacuate civilians from the danger zone', N for 'neutralize the threat', and D for 'detain the suspects'. That means _no killing._ " She gave Buttercup a look.

"What are you looking at me for?" Buttercup snapped. "I was a monster hunter, not a serial killer."

"This isn't like when we were kids," said Blossom. "We're accountable to the people, and to the courts. We screw things up and we could face jail time."

Bubbles smiled and cocked her head. "Things sure have gotten complicated since we left huh?"

"Things have…" Blossom paused grimly to find the right word. "Evolved." She looked at Bubbles. "How fast are you?"

"You want me to evacuate the hotel," said Bubbles. It wasn't a question.

"We need to move them as far away from the beach front as possible."

"You know I'm not the Flash right? When I move like that, I'm not actually _moving_ fast. And there are limits to how long I can slow down time."

"Give me a run down."

"I have three gears. My first gear slows down time by 0.5 for ten to fifteen seconds with a one second cool down. Second gear slows down time by 0.25 for five to ten seconds with a three second cool down. And my third gear: 0.125 for a maximum of three seconds with a five second cool down."

"And your max speed at normal time flow?" Blossom asked.

"I've clocked maybe a hundred miles per hour?"

"That's more than enough," said Blossom. "Use the second gear. That should bring your relative speed up to—"

"Four hundred miles per hour," they said together.

"Nerds," Buttercup muttered.

"Be right back," said Bubbles, as blue sparks filled the space around her. In a blink, she was gone.

"Alright," said Blossom, turning to Buttercup. "You can help me with the foot soldiers before the mecha gets here."

"Help you?" Buttercup smirked. "Jesus, you really are full of yourself huh?"

Blossom rolled her eyes to the heavens and ran her hands over her face. "Oh my God, seriously? Are you going to take offence at everything I say?"

"The apes are mine," said Buttercup.

"Really?" Blossom said dully. "You're going to fight three hundred plus soldiers on your own?"

"If Bubbles and I weren't here, would you have taken them on your own?"

"That's not the…that's different! I'm—"

"Stronger than us?" said Buttercup. "I'll only say this one more time." And as she spoke, a green aura began to envelop her body, emerald flames licking at her flesh and lifting the strands of her hair like she was in zero gravity. "This isn't ten years ago, and I'm not that powerless little girl anymore."

A plate of green glass formed beneath Buttercup's feet, and Blossom watched it lift her off the roof and carry her down; across the swimming pool and the gazebos, over the chain-linked fence and down the cliff side, towards the vast belt of beach sand.

Buttercup landed gently on the ground, her hands summoning twin swords of green light as she did. The first boats had just started to arrive on the shore, and the apes—in their camouflage uniforms with weapons strung across their backs—had begun climbing out. They noticed Buttercup and stopped in confusion.

"I won't use a single spell on you," she said to them, as she spread her feet apart, assuming a fighting stance. "You aren't worth the trouble."

One of apes swung his rifle around, and Buttercup shot towards him, flitting across the sand in a haphazard zigzag. The air exploded with gunfire, but the bullets ricocheted off the face of her sword, which she was spinning in front of her like an industrial fan. Her other blade sank through the rifle, a hot knife through butter, and then divided it into several pieces like diced salami. She smashed her forehead into the ape's nose, immediately snuffing out his consciousness. She twirled around, delivering powerful kicks to the other two apes who had shared a boat with him. Apes from a nearby boat opened fire on her, but she'd already leapt into the air. She fell upon them swinging.

Buttercup was a marvel to behold. She zipped to and fro, swinging her blades so swiftly that it looked like she was trapped in a nest of bright green arcs. Apes yelled and screamed as they were relieved off their weapons and knocked out with elbows to their faces, kicks to their chests, and hilts to their necks. She moved farther into the water to meet the incoming boats, her feet planted firmly upon the surface of the sea. She didn't sink. She glided like a surfer by magic, her blades growing in length to rip through the wooden hulls and sink the soldiers into the cold water. Occasionally, her left-hand sword would morph into a chain and she'd wrap it around an ape's neck, yanking him into the air with her so she could collide a knee with his face. Some of the apes started diving into the water in a wild panic, but even they weren't spared; a kick across the face was all it took to take them out. Bodies upon bodies started to wash up on the sand. Blossom counted a little more than a hundred unconscious apes in the sand from her place on the roof. It was a disconcerting sight.

A burst of electrical energy and Bubbles was back, standing next to Blossom.

"What is she doing?" Bubbles said. "Is she taking them all on her own?"

Blossom sighed. "Yup."

"Hmm. She's taking damage," said Bubbles matter-of-factly.

Blossom only shrugged.

Not all of Buttercup's attacks were flawless. The farther she travelled into the water, the more apes with whom she had to contend at a time. The waves were angrier too, and it was harder for her to control her movements with every swell and collapse of the sea. Bullets were finding her flesh, even if only by grazing it. A laser cannon blasted her off her feet, and she sank beneath the waves for a few seconds. But then she was back, bursting out of her would-be salty grave with a glassy kusarigama. She spun the chain-sickle over her head, and fired it at the holder of the cannon. The chain wrapped itself around the ape, the sickle attached to it sinking into his right breast. He shrieked as Buttercup wrenched him out of the boat and met his face with a chain-wrapped fist. One of the apes had a harpoon gun for some reason, and his aim was true. The harpoon went clean through Buttercup's shoulder, and she cried out in pain…a second before grabbing the harpoon's rope and using it as a tether to streak across the water and smash a light-construct axe through the boat.

The unconscious bodies on the beach were increasing in number. It was almost two hundred now, and there were more apes flailing in the water.

"Whoops," said Bubbles, pointing down. "Some of them got past her."

A few of the apes had managed to escape Buttercup's rampage, and were now sprinting across the sand towards the city.

Bubbles turned to Blossom. "May I?"

Blossom shrugged half-heartedly. "Why not?"

Bubbles disappeared with a burst of bright blue lightning. Soon, she had reappeared on the beach, and was flickering here and there, taking out the apes Buttercup had missed.

Blossom watched her sisters make short work of the Sons of Mojo. And slowly, but only very slowly, like a tea bag steeped in cold water, her mild irritation was suffused with pride. She started to wonder, if it was finally time for her to let go of her guilt. A decade ago, after that…catastrophe…what a nasty surprise it had been, realizing what she had done, what her hubris had caused. To retain her powers while her sisters had lost most of theirs. To see Buttercup, who had arguably been the proudest of their abilities, who had relished the sweat and the pain and the heat of battle, who had been the most reluctant to participate in Blossom's little experiment, be affected the hardest. Reduced to almost human. It was a miracle to see what she was capable of now. Her sister was a badass mother—

A beam of pure white light cut through the fog to hit Buttercup, and the explosion was audible over the foghorn, a pillar of sea water rising several meters at the point of impact.

"BUTTERCUP!" Blossom screamed. She blasted off the rooftop.

Buttercup's body was like a ragdoll, twisting and turning through the air towards the sand. Blossom caught her mid-air and floated down with her body. Bubbles was already there to meet her, as she laid Buttercup carefully on the ground.

"Is she okay?" said Bubbles.

"Shit, I knew this was a bad idea!" Blossom said. "Buttercup, can you hear me?"

Buttercup's flesh was red all over, a deep rouge underneath her skin, like she had been stuck in a giant microwave. And her cuts and bruises were a lot worse up close. She was bleeding all over.

Angry tears flowed down Blossom's face. "She's such a dumbass! What was she trying to prove?"

Bubbles had Buttercup's wrist in her hands. "I feel a pulse. At least, she's alive. I saw her put up some kind of barrier before the beam hit. I'm sure she'll be—"

Buttercup's eyes flashed open.

"Buttercup!" Blossom gasped.

But Buttercup's eyes were unfocused, fixed on something that neither of her sisters could see.

"No," Buttercup whispered, as her eyes started to glow blood red. "No, don't let him…please, don't let…" she croaked, writhing.

"Don't let who?" Blossom said. "What're you talking about?"

"Um, Blossom…" Bubbles said, showing her Buttercup's hand.

A tattoo of a ram's head had appeared on Buttercup's wrist, and crescent marks were beginning to form, spreading down her forearm.

"This is for sure out of my wheelhouse," said Bubbles.

"Buttercup? Snap out of it, Buttercup!" Blossom said, shaking her sister.

"Run," Buttercup moaned. Her voice had gone polyphonic, and the second voice overlaying hers was deeper, darker. "You have to run…"

Blossom gave Bubbles a desperate look and then, drawing her hand back, she smacked Buttercup across the face.

Buttercup passed out again and the black markings on her arm faded away. The sisters stared at her breathlessly, only exhaling again when they were sure the weird phenomenon was over.

"What the hell was that?" Bubbles asked.

"I don't know," said Blossom, standing up. "But we're done playing games."

She rose through the air, drifting towards the sea. The mecha was finally here, a three hundred metre monstrosity made of an amalgamation of metal alloys. It looked like an over-fed cyclops, bulky and lumbering, with a pulsating white orb in its torso. Blossom floated towards the mecha.

The white eye started to glow, releasing a sound like a hundred million angry hornets. Giant exhausts on its shoulders released streams of steam, as the colossal machine began powering up to fire the same beam that had put Buttercup out of commission.

Blossom didn't flinch. She just kept floating towards the mecha.

Then, with a piercing squeal, the mecha released its beam at Blossom.

And Blossom…swatted it away with her _hand_. The beam bounced off her knuckles, streaking across the sky like a bolt of lightning.

Bubbles blinked in disbelief from the ground.

Then Blossom flew up. Up, up, up, towards the darkened skies. She broke through the grey ceiling of cloud cover, flying higher and higher still, until she was a speck in the infinite blue of the stratosphere. Then she drew a fist back, and started to plummet.

Her body was a meteor, wrapped in wind resistance and fire. A ring of displaced atmosphere boomed behind her as she broke the sound barrier. She slashed across the sky, leaving a vibrant red trail of excess energy and chasing cloud in her wake.

The cyclops looked up just in time.

It was like a hydrogen bomb. Blossom's punch pinned the mecha to the ground with a brutal instantaneity, gravity multiplied a thousand fold. The earth shook, and the sea detonated, rising several hundred feet into the air.

The shockwave was tremendous, and Bubbles had to lean forward to keep from being flung backwards. She heard what sounded like a tower of champagne flutes crashing down, and looked back to see that every single window of the Townsville Beach Hotel was shattered. The wind from the impact cleared the fog and parted the dark clouds overhead. And as the sea water came back down, pitter-pattering in the form of rain, Bubbles looked back at the mecha.

The giant robot was completely wrecked, a pile of scrap metal half-submerged in the water. And standing on the rim of one of its exhausts, holding up the simian driver of the mecha by his throat, was Blossom. A ray of sunlight seemed to have chosen her specifically, falling down to shroud her in a halo that was borderline divine.

And just like that, the foghorn stopped and the beach was quiet again.

"There's no way she was always this strong," someone croaked behind Bubbles, and Bubbles turned to see Buttercup back on her feet. She too was staring at Blossom's triumphant scene, incredulous.

"No," said Bubbles, slowly turning back to stare at the one they called Liberty Belle. "None of us were."

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading this! I've been trying to work faster on the chapters, and I hope I can put out at least two more before Christmas Day. Please leave a review on the way out. I love hearing from you guys! Take care of yourselves, and Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays in advance!_**


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